


there are no rules at 3 a.m.

by nightswatch



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 23:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8773324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: Kent Parson is a huge mess, but Swoops is surprisingly okay with that. At least for a little while.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, no one really knows who the Swoops guy actually is, but I've seen people call him Jeff assuming that he's that dude from that post where Kent is sitting on the ice and I just sort of ran with that? What even is this pairing. 
> 
> (There's mention of a character's relative being ill if that's something you're not too keen on, but it's just a minor thing.)
> 
> (And I wasn't sure when exactly the Aces played the Falcs, but I assume I must have been in October or November 2015 and I sincerely hope that's somewhat accurate.)

**January 2015**

This is how it starts:

 

It’s a few weeks after Kent’s, admittedly, unfortunate visit to Samwell, and they’re back in Vegas. Kent leaves whatever issues he has at home when he goes to the rink. Or at least he tries. Sometimes he doesn’t quite manage. He’s working on that. Really.

They’re well into the season and at this point Kent knows his team. He knows his rookies and he knows the guys that got traded to the Aces, and he knows the guys he’s been playing with for years. He’s their captain. He has to know them.

Kent was already captain when Swoops came to Vegas. Swoops fit right in, made friends, one of them Kit, and hangs out at Kent’s place constantly. Kent can’t say that he minds, because he has a huge house – which he bought after he realized that he’d likely be staying in Vegas for a while – and a huge pool and a huge couch that looks too big when it’s just him sitting on it.

Anyway. He knows his guys. He knows Swoops.

Now, Swoops _really_ doesn’t take his issues on the ice. He’s a great player; he’s been having a great season. But he’s not having a great week.

Kent isn’t having the best of weeks himself. His thoughts are still with Jack more often than not, even though it’s been weeks, apology after apology fitting itself together in his head, only to be pushed away, because he screwed up and maybe it’s time to come to terms with the fact that an apology won’t fix this.

There’s no going back to _before,_ and maybe it’s time for Kent to come to terms with that as well. He doesn’t know why it only now hits him that Kenny and Zimms who won the Memorial Cup are two completely different people now. He’s held onto that dream for far too long, the two of them, back together, at least on the ice. And maybe off the ice as well. He thought that maybe they could be some better version of those people again. He misses who they were, or maybe he just misses how easy it felt back then.

So, yeah, Kent is having a shitty week (or maybe even a shitty month) but that doesn’t keep him from noticing that Swoops has been awfully quiet lately. Because if someone is being loud in the locker room, there’s a 98% chance that it’s Swoops, except today it’s Troy and Swoops is silently pulling off his skates.

Kent decides to give it another day or two, because everyone has off days. Sometimes it’s really just _one_ day and it’s not like Kent noticed anything wrong with Swoops during practice.

The next day, Swoops scores the first goal of the game, and he grins broadly when Kent barrels into him. Maybe he got worried over nothing. Kent scores in the second period, then again in the third, but they still lose 3-4 in overtime and Swoops pats his shoulder as they leave the ice and Kent catches himself thinking that it should be the other way around, because he’s the captain, for fuck’s sake.

The day after, they win, but the day after that, during practice, and after practice, Swoops is back to being quiet. He doesn’t look sad, doesn’t look more tired than he usually would after back-to-back games, but it doesn’t sit right with Kent.

On the way to the parking lot, he catches up with Swoops. It can’t hurt to ask, right? He knows that sometimes he worries about them all a bit too much, has had some of them guys call him _mom_ , but– He can’t let it happen again. He knows that it won’t, but Jack was his best friend, shit, Kent was in love with him, and he didn’t even notice what was going on with him. Or maybe he did notice and wasn’t brave enough to just _say something_.

“Swoops,” Kent says and gives him a pat on the back. “You okay?”

Swoops glances at him and shrugs. “I’m fine,” he says.

“You sure about that?”

Swoops waves him off, which isn’t a yes and which isn’t a no, and it only makes Kent feel even more uneasy, because now he’s sure that something’s wrong.

“Jeffrey,” Kent says.

“Parse, come on.”

“You wanna come over later?” Kent asks, because this conversation clearly isn’t going anywhere, but he’s not ready to give up yet either.

“Nah, I…” Swoops shrugs and apparently gives up on talking himself out of it. “Fine.”

“See you later,” Kent says. He gives Swoops a shove before he wanders off to his car.

Kent half expects Swoops to come up with some bullshit excuse for why he can’t make it after all, but then he shows up at Kent’s place just after seven, picks up Kit and sits down on Kent’s couch like he always does.

It’s a good thing that Kit doesn’t mind being cuddled. Actually, that’s why Kent adopted her in the first place. He likes falling asleep with her curled up on his chest. She makes him feel safe, makes him feel like he’s _home_. Like he’s not completely alone.

Kent tries not to think of those few seconds in which he had Jack’s arms around him at Samwell before Jack pushed him away. It’s fucked up. He misses how close they were, and, sure, he’s been trying to somehow fill that hole, has dated people here and there, but it never goes anywhere, because he’s never committing to it.

“Look,” Swoops says before Kent has even sat down, “I’m just having a shitty week.”

“Okay,” Kent says.

“Great, now that we’ve discussed that, can we just…” Swoops nods at Kent’s TV. “Let’s just watch something really stupid and… I don’t know. I’m sorry if this has been affecting the team somehow, but I was trying not to let it show.”

“No worries,” Kent says and hands over the remote as he flops down next to Swoops.

They watch some relic from the 80s and order pizza and Kent doesn’t even notice how they’ve been drifting towards each other until suddenly their shoulders are touching. Kent knows that he should move. Seriously, his couch is about as big as Nevada, there’s no reason for them to be this close, but he misses that feeling of having someone close to him. Someone who isn’t Kit, he should say. So he stays right where he is.

Kit yawns and hops off Swoops, vanishing through the door. Swoops makes a disappointed noise.

“She’ll be back in, like, two minutes,” Kent mumbles.

“Hm,” Swoops says. He fiddles with the corner of a pillow, and Kent can tell that he’s working up to something. Maybe it isn’t _just_ having a shitty week after all. Then Swoops says, “My grandma has Alzheimer’s.”

“Shit,” Kent says. Fucking hell, he’s terrible at comforting people. These things happen, they all have families and friends and sometimes life goes wrong, and Kent tries to be there for his guys, he does. And right now he really has to do better than _shit_. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Yeah, I… My mom called the other day and… yeah. I don’t know. It’s weird. They’re trying to deal with it, but they’re, like, on the other side of the country and I can’t do shit. I couldn’t even do anything if I was there, so…” He tugs his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t want anyone to notice.”

“Fine, the next time you look miserable as fuck, I’ll just ignore it.”

“Thanks,” Swoops says. “Much obliged.”

“Dude…” Kent gives him a nudge. “For real, though, if you need anything–”

“I sure as hell won’t ask you,” Swoops says and nudges him back.

Kent laughs. “Fuck off.”

“Whatever, Parse.” Swoops flicks at Kent’s thigh. “Anyway, you’ve been in a shit mood as well.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Wanna share with the group?”

“I really don’t,” Kent says. What would he tell Swoops anyway? _It’s been years, but I’m somehow still hung up on Jack Zimmermann_. Yeah, he’s not saying that out loud. “Pick another movie.”

He falls asleep halfway through and of course he didn’t put a single inch between himself and Swoops beforehand, so when he wakes up again, he’s curled against Swoops, Swoops is fast asleep and the TV screen is black. The lamp next to the couch is still on and the DVD player’s clock says it’s nearly three in the morning. Kit is sleeping on Swoops’ thigh and scurries away when Kent jerks away from Swoops.

“What…” Swoops says.

Kent freezes. At least he managed to get his head off Swoops’ chest before he woke up, but they’re still way too close and Swoops’ eyes are way too dark, way too focused on Kent. Seriously, Kent doesn’t know what to do with the way Swoops is looking at him.

Because he knows what usually happens when people look at him the way Swoops is looking at him.

Swoops’ eyes flick to Kent’s lips then back up. Swoops shifts and then his hand is on Kent’s side, not pushing, not pulling, it’s just there, warm and solid and Kent gives himself a few seconds to figure out if he’s actually stupid enough to do this.

He is, he really is.

Kent doesn’t know how they got from watching terrible 80s movies to here. Kent gives an inch. Swoops does as well and that’s really all it takes. It feels like a dream, Swoops’ lips on his, it doesn’t feel real. Nothing feels real at three in the morning when you just woke up and let yourself give in.

They’re not drunk. They haven’t just won the Cup. There won’t be a single good excuse for this in the morning. Kent won’t be able to talk his way out of this somehow.

It should scare the shit out of him.

Back when he wasn’t captain yet, when he was just another rookie, promising, yes, but by no means well-known, he’d take home guys, wouldn’t worry that they’d know who he was, but now… now he’s Kent Parson, captain of the Las Vegas Aces, one of the best-paid, one of the most popular, one of the most famous players in the NHL. He’s not trying to brag or anything, it’s just that he can’t trust that he won’t be recognized anymore.

Swoops understands what’s at stake here, they’re in the same boat, and Swoops is– Swoops is a really good kisser. He pulls at Kent’s shirt and that’s the only invitation he needs. Kent crawls into Swoops’ lap, buries his fingers in his hair and holds on.

*

**March 2015**

This is how it ends:

 

“We shouldn’t,” Kent mumbles into the crook of Swoops’ neck. They _so_ shouldn’t. All of this is a mess, it’s a mess where sometimes Swoops will show up at Kent’s, and where Kent will show up at Swoops’, just like they used to, only now they’ll end up with their limbs tangled and with bruises on their skin.

Today, Kent has ended up pushed against his own kitchen counter, Swoops pressed against him, and he needs this so much, but, honestly, what the fuck are they doing? They can’t possibly keep doing this, can they? At some point someone’s going to find out and then– Yeah, and then what?

“Parse, it’s three in the morning, and I honest to God don’t give a shit,” Swoops says. Then he sighs and drops his hands. “Do you want me to go?”

“No,” Kent says and grabs Swoops by the hips, pulling him closer again.

This can’t keep happening, because they’re on the same team, and Kent promised himself that he wouldn’t get into something like this again. He can’t do this. It has to stop. Tomorrow. Not right now, because right now he is selfish and he has his hands under Swoops’ shirt and Swoops is kissing him so hard that he’s not sure how breathing works anymore and he wants to tell Swoops that he wants to feel him everywhere, but all he manages is a low moan when Swoops pulls at his hair.

Before it ends, Kent pushes Swoops down the hall to his bedroom one last time, and he sleeps next to him one last time, and he wakes up in an empty bed the next morning, the sheets tucked around him, the other side of the bed still warm, Swoops’ clothes still scattered about his room.

Kent fishes his boxers off the floor, pulls them on, and shuffles down the hall to the kitchen and there’s Swoops, wearing nothing but his boxers and the apron Kent got from his sister when he first moved to Vegas, brewing coffee and making omelets, because for some reason Swoops can actually cook and managed to hide that from the rest of the team for the past two years.

“You didn’t make me breakfast last time,” Kent says. Or any of the other times he stayed over at Kent’s.

“You didn’t have anything remotely edible in your fridge last time.”

“Fuck you, I totally did,” Kent grumbles and takes a sip of Swoops’ cup of coffee.

He watches Swoops for a minute, admires the view, lets his eyes wander down the expanse of his back. Swoops grins at him over his shoulder.

Neither of them ever pretended that this is more than it is. It’s them, falling into each other’s beds because they can trust each other to keep this a secret. It’s them, relying on each other because it’s easy. Kent thought this was exactly what he wanted, but he didn’t want it with someone he actually cares about. Because Swoops is his teammate. Of course Kent cares about him.

Kent leans against the counter next to the stove and says, “We need to stop doing this.” Because he’s a mess, and he can’t drag anyone else into it with him. Swoops doesn’t deserve this kind of shit. Really, nobody does.

Swoops turns around to look at him for a moment, his eyes so dark, and softer than Kent has ever seen them. “Fine,” he says. He doesn’t ask why.

So they stop.

*

**August 2015**

This is how Kent Parson realizes that he has a problem:

 

It’s 3 AM.

There’s a boy curled against Kent's chest and _of course_ this is happening at 3 AM, because it’s that time of night when everything is slightly off-kilter. It’s the time of night when you shouldn’t be awake, because it’s also that time of night when your entire life turns to shit.

Kent’s entire life is turning to shit right this moment.

He was fine.

(He wasn’t, but he was really good at telling himself that he was fine.)

Anyway. Kent had things under control. Even his therapist said that he’s made some progress. And it’s not that this is ruining his entire life, but it’s ruining at least one third of his life. It’s the third that has nothing to do with hockey.

Okay, that was a lie. It has a lot to do with hockey. Because the guy who’s currently slumped against Kent is Swoops. Of course it’s Swoops. Swoops, who’s on his team. Fucking Swoops, who’s drunk off his ass and who’s a dead weight on his chest, and who’s warm, and close, and who’s making Kent think about things he shouldn’t be thinking about _ever_. Or at least not anymore.  

Kent was dealing with this.

He was dealing with it by not giving into it anymore, because he remembers how it ended last time.

Last time. With Zimms.

Kent texted Jack a very brief and concise, _Congrats!!_ , when Jack signed with the Falconers and got back an equally brief and concise, _Thank you!_

He counted it a victory that he got a reply at all; he certainly wasn’t expecting one. He certainly didn’t deserve one. He’s very well aware that he needs to apologize for what he said when he came to Samwell last year. What he said to Jack was… less than ideal. A lot of things that happened between him and Jack Zimmermann were less than ideal.

Kent also knows that he excels at hurting people when he’s upset. He drags everyone down with him. Which is also less than ideal. He’ll apologize. Properly. Kent doesn’t expect Jack to forgive him, but his therapist still thinks he should talk to him. At some point. Not any time soon.

He doesn’t know what to say, other than, _I’m sorry_ , and, _You know what I’m like. I know what I’m like_. A fucking disaster is what he is. Not that that’s an excuse. Being a bad excuse of a human being isn’t a good enough apology for anything.

Swoops doesn’t deserve to get caught up in this mess, except that he already is caught up in it and now all Kent can do is try to get him out somehow.

“Swoops,” Kent says.

Swoops grunts and shifts even closer, because Swoops is an asshole who’s trying to make Kent’s life even harder.

“Jeff.” Kent gives him a shove. “ _Jeffrey_. Wake up.”

Swoops jerks and sits up straight, blinks sleepily, rubs his eyes, and says, “Sorry, man.” He slumps against the back of the couch and slowly slides downwards again, this time away from Kent. “Can I crash here?”

“Sure,” Kent says, because he’s not gonna kick Swoops’ ass out of his house at three in the morning.

It won’t be the first time he wakes up to Swoops sleeping on his couch with Kit curled up next to him. For some reason, Kent is sure that tomorrow morning he won’t know how to deal with the sight of it. He knows himself. He knows what Swoops looks like when he’s just woken up. He knows he shouldn’t let him stay.

Swoops closes his eyes and goes the fuck to sleep and Kent is pathetically grateful that he does, because otherwise he might do something ridiculous like try to kiss him.

Kent turns off the TV, scratches Kit behind the ears, and risks one last glance at Swoops. It’s a good thing that Kent has invested a ridiculous amount of money in getting the biggest couch on the planet. Swoops is curled up on his side, legs tucked up, his mouth open and Kent shouldn’t be feeling anything other than annoyance right now, but he is, in fact, feeling a great many other things.

He tells himself to stop it.

Swoops shifts, fingers curling into his pillow.

Kent grabs a blanket off an arm chair and drapes it over Swoops, because he has the air conditioning cranked up, and he tries his hardest to concentrate on his self-loathing instead of the way Swoops’ eyelashes curl against his cheeks. Because thinking about that would be fucking ridiculous. Seriously.

Kit is watching him, tail swishing. Judging him.

“I know,” Kent mutters as he shuffles to his bedroom, switching off the lights as he goes.

He has a problem.

*

**October 2015**

Here’s Kent Parson’s first big mistake:

 

He sends Swoops a text.

_you awake?_

Kent regrets it the second he sends it off, but silently thanks himself for not doing something even more ridiculous. Like text Jack. Because he’s in Providence and Jack is out there somewhere and Kent has been wide awake ever since he got back to the hotel and crawled into bed.

He usually rooms with one of the rookies, especially at the beginning of the season, but, this time only, he quietly requested a single room for the night in Providence. He just didn’t want to be around anyone, but now he thinks it might have been better not to be alone.

Swoops doesn’t reply. He’s most likely fast asleep in his own room down the hall and it’s better that way.

Kent isn’t even sure what has him so worked up. It’s Jack, of course it’s Jack, but it’s not even that Kent wants Jack to be here with him right now. Jack has changed so much. The Jack Zimmermann that Kent encountered on the ice today is an entirely different player than the one Kent used to play with.

Of course he’s different, of course. Kent doesn’t understand why it took him by surprise.

They won that game, even though the Falcs certainly weren’t happy with how it ended, and Kent shouldn’t be lying awake in the middle of the night. He wishes he’d have the guts to ask Jack to meet him. He just wants to talk. He doesn’t want to go back to _before,_ not anymore, but he still misses Jack. Not in the way he missed him a year ago, but he misses having him as a friend.

Because if they were friends, Kent could tell him that he made a huge mistake, that he just can’t stop making them no matter how hard he tries, that he can’t stop looking at Swoops for some reason, and that it’s fucking killing him.

There’s a knock on his door.

“Kent,” Swoops says.

“Fuck,” Kent says, fumbles for the light switch and scrambles out of bed.

Swoops is outside his door, in sweatpants and a faded shirt, his hair sticking up, his eyes tired. “Yes, I’m awake,” he says.

“Sorry,” Kent says and it’s surprisingly easy.

“Are you gonna let me in or do you want me to go back to my own room?”

Kent takes a step back to let Swoops in, sits down on the edge of his bed and watches as Swoops tosses his key card on the table and shuffles over to him. Swoops sits down next to Kent, but he doesn’t kiss him, doesn’t even touch him.

He just says, “So?”

“Huh?” Kent asks.

“Why exactly am I sitting in your room at three in the morning?”

“You came over here?” Kent says.

“Why did you text me?”

_I temporarily lost the last shred of self-control I had left_. “I couldn’t sleep,” Kent says. He wants to apologize again. He wants to apologize to so many people for so many things that he should probably make a list to keep track.

“I’m so not gonna fuck you tonight,” Swoops says and crawls into bed. “I’m beat.”

Kent raises his eyebrows at him. “But you’re sleeping here?”

“Yeah,” Swoops says and pulls at the sheets, “guess I am. Get in here and turn off the lights.”

Kent does, flicks off the lights and wiggles under the covers. Swoops’ arm is around him a second later, pulling him in, and Swoops kisses him, the corner of his mouth, and then again, properly this time.

“I thought we weren’t doing that anymore,” Kent whispers, like he didn’t ask Swoops to come to his room for this exact reason.

“The rules don’t apply at 3 AM, Parse,” Swoops says.

“There are rules?”

“Shut it,” Swoops mutters and makes sure that Kent doesn’t get another chance to say anything for the next five minutes, arms firmly wrapped around him.

Kent loses himself in it; he just wants somebody’s hands on him. Oh, there he is, lying again. He wants it to be _those_ hands, he wants Swoops and nobody else, and if that isn’t a huge fucking problem, then Kent doesn’t know what is.

He sighs when Swoops pulls away. He knows that it’s the middle of the night, he knows that they both need to get some sleep, but– He pushes his face into Swoops’ shirt, holds on to him so tightly that it’s a tad embarrassing, but Swoops doesn’t complain, which is a good sign because Swoops pretty much complains at every chance he gets.

“Go the fuck to sleep,” Swoops mumbles into Kent’s hair. He trails his fingers up and down Kent’s spine, slowly. Gently. He takes a deep breath. “This is about Zimmermann, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Kent says, because Swoops is, like, one of the two people he can actually tell the truth about this. The other one is Zimms. “I mean… I owe him an apology, ’s all.”

“Better get it over with if it keeps you up at night. Especially since it’s also keeping _me_ up at night.”

“Jeff…” Kent says. He doesn’t even know what to say. Actually, there are too many things he wants to say and a good 99% of them are things he _shouldn’t_ say.

“Stop Jeff-ing me, I could have just pretended that your stupid text didn’t wake me up.” Swoops lightly scratches at the back of Kent’s neck, fingers slipping into his hair. “Seriously, Kent, go to sleep. By which I mean to say, please let me go to sleep.”

“Okay,” Kent says, “going to sleep right now.”

“Thanks,” Swoops says dryly.

Kent closes his eyes, fully expecting that he won’t sleep for a single second, that he’ll be dead on his feet when he gets up in the morning, but he falls asleep within the next ten minutes to the sound of Swoops’ quiet snores.

In the morning, Swoops kisses the top of his head before he clambers out of bed, grumbling under his breath as he picks up his key card.

“Swoops,” Kent says.

“Yeah,” Swoops says before he slips out the door.

Kent isn’t sure how those two words somehow held an entire conversation that included a _seriously, we need to stop doing this_ and a _you’re the one who texted me, fucker,_ and a _this won’t happen again_ and a _yeah, whatever_ , and a _thank you_ and a _you’re welcome._

When Swoops is gone, Kent grabs his phone and pulls up the last conversation he had with Jack earlier this year. He types out several messages, deletes them and, when he realizes that he’s about to miss breakfast if he doesn’t hurry up, he sends Jack a simple _i’m sorry_.

After a very long minute of consideration, he adds, _about everything_.

As apologies go, it’s a shitty one. So he adds: _i just really hope you’re happy._

And: _i mean it._

Kent stuffs his phone into his bag before he can dig himself an even bigger hole.

He doesn’t notice when he gets Jack’s reply half an hour later. He’s too busy stealing bacon off Swoops’ plate.

*

**January 2016**

Here’s Kent Parson’s second big mistake:

 

He goes to Swoops’ place after they lose against the Schooners.

Actually, he goes home first. He curls up on the couch with Kit, mopes, eats ice cream, and then gets into his car and drives to Swoops’ place. He’s renting a house that’s actually a pretty good size for one person unlike, say, Kent’s place, which is, admittedly, way too big for just him and Kit.

Kent rings the doorbell before he can do the only smart thing and go back home and pretend he was never here in the first place. He rings it twice, just for good measure, because it’s late and Swoops is probably in bed, which is where he should be, because he wasn’t feeling that great last week and after the Schooners practically destroyed them there’s nothing better for any of them to do anyway.

The hallway lights turn on about half a minute later, then Swoops peers through the window next to the door.

“Of course it’s you,” Swoops says as he opens the door. “Do I want to know what you’re doing here in the middle of the night?”

“Can I crash here?” Kent asks.

Swoops just stares at him and for a second Kent is sure that Swoops is going to tell him to fuck off. Which he should. But then he says, “Yeah, sure…” and lets Kent in. He doesn’t wait for Kent to say or do anything, just shuffles down the hall and vanishes into his bedroom while Kent kicks off his shoes by the door. “Lock the door,” Swoops shouts.

Kent does and follows Swoops down the hall.

Swoops is already back in bed, sheets half-heartedly pulled up. “Lights,” he says.

Kent gets the lights and carefully makes his way over to the bed, pulling off his clothes on the way. Swoops pulls Kent against him the second he’s in bed. Their kisses are messy, their hands eager, and they weren’t going to do this again, really, Kent should know better, but Swoops’ hands on his skin feel so good that all of his thoughts go up in a puff of smoke.

It’s rough and fast, and it’s exactly what Kent needs right now, but it’s not just the sex, it’s Swoops’ breath on his skin and it’s his arms around Kent’s waist. Kent wants this every day, but he can’t have this, won’t have this, because Swoops still deserves so much better than the mess that is Kent Parson.

Kent is still trying to catch his breath when Swoops reaches out to run his fingers through Kent’s hair. “I don’t need to tell you that you’re not personally responsible for that loss, right?”

“Right,” Kent says, although he maybe sort of really needed to hear that.

“It wasn’t our greatest game of all time, but we’ll bounce back.”

“Nice soundbite.”

“I should have just left you standing outside my door,” Swoops says.

“Rude,” Kent mutters and snorts when Swoops pulls him closer and kisses his shoulder.

“I could still kick your ass out the door.”

“But you won’t.”

“Yeah, I won’t because you actually make a pretty decent pillow.”

Kent huffs at Swoops when he pillows his head on his chest. Coming here was simultaneously the best and the worst idea that Kent has ever had.

“Hey,” Swoops says, fingers brushing up and down Kent’s side. “Next game’s gonna be better.”

“Yeah…” Kent shifts so he can wrap himself around Swoops a little better and closes his eyes. He’s fucking exhausted and he doesn’t want to talk about the game anymore. He doesn’t want to think about it – or anything at all, for that matter – and he doesn’t want to think about the conversation they’re going to have tomorrow morning when he’ll tell Swoops that this was the last time.

Seriously. It has to be last time. He should probably apologize, too, for always saying that it’s the last time and never sticking with it. Kent doesn’t want to be an asshole about this, but he definitely is and he doesn’t know how to stop.

When he wakes up in the morning, Swoops is still there, warm against Kent’s back, his arm slung around Kent’s middle. It’s a bit of a novelty, really, because Swoops likes his morning runs and his morning coffee and he likes them _early_. Kent can tell that Swoops is already awake, slowly nosing up and down Kent’s neck.

He could pretend that he’s asleep. Just for a little while longer. Instead, he sighs.

“We have to get up for practice soon,” Swoops mumbles.

“Hm,” Kent says. He has to go home and feed Kit before practice starts. And he has to think about his life choices. Honestly, what was he thinking when he came here in the middle of the night?

Swoops presses a kiss to Kent’s jaw. “We really have to stop doing this,” he says quietly.

Kent nods.

So they stop. Really.

*

**July 2016**

In all honesty, _this_ is how it starts:

 

It’s 3 AM and Kent’s birthday has been over for three hours. Everyone’s already left. Well, Kent is sure that the lump on his couch is a person and that there are at least three people asleep in his guest room, but he’s the only one who’s still awake.

Most of the guys on the team aren’t even in town and Kent thought about going home for approximately three seconds before he realized that he has no idea what he wants and invited everyone over for a Fourth of July party that also happened to be his birthday party on a whim. Some of the guys brought over friends and in the end there was a pretty decent amount of people around.

Swoops was there.

Actually, Swoops is probably still there, because he wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. Swoops might be the lump on his couch, now that Kent thinks about it.

Kit comes darting into the kitchen and Kent picks her up, cradling her against his chest.

Another birthday over and Kent isn’t about to have some existential crisis about getting older, really, he’s not _that_ old yet. But maybe he’s about to have an existential crisis about several other things. People. Like Swoops.

Kent catches himself looking at him, catches himself thinking about driving to Swoops’ place, catches himself daydreaming about kissing him and waking up next to him in the morning. Kent hates himself a bit.

Scratch that, Kent hates himself _a lot_.

When Jack texted him earlier, just a very brief _Happy Birthday_ , Kent nearly called him because he doesn’t know how to feel, or maybe he doesn’t know how to feel about those feelings he’s having. Because he is having feelings. A lot of them. And maybe he just wanted to tell someone, maybe he just wanted to tell Jack that there’s this guy, maybe he just wanted Jack to tell him to get his shit together. In the end, Kent said _thanks!!!!_ and glanced over at Swoops, shirtless, still dripping from when Troy pushed him into the pool earlier, teaching one of the older guys’ kids magic tricks. Then he hated himself a little more.

The way he handled this thing with Swoops was… less than ideal. They should have talked about it. Whatever _it_ was. Maybe they could have figured it out. Maybe Kent could have tried to be the kind of person Swoops deserves. 

“I’m an asshole,” Kent says to Kit.

“Nothing new there, but hey, I’m intrigued… What did you do this time?”

Kent looks up to find Swoops leaning in the doorway.

“It’s just my general state of being,” Kent says. He puts down Kit, who prances out of the kitchen, probably to curl up on the couch.

Swoops grins and Kent’s stomach does some very much uncalled for acrobatics. This whole _thing_ is getting worse instead of better. Kent just wants it to stop. But the universe hates him and Swoops comes shuffling over to him, stands right in front of him and looks down at him, head tilted.

Kent sucks in a deep breath. He can’t look anywhere else, can’t do the right thing and walk away from this. He has a soft spot for Swoops and it’s the size of fucking Jupiter.

Swoops slowly trails his thumb along Kent’s cheekbone.

Someone could walk in on them right now. Kent isn’t sure if he’d care. It’s three in the morning and it once again doesn’t feel real when Swoops leans in to kiss him.

“Remember when we agreed that we should stop doing this?” Kent says.

“Remember when we agreed that the rules don’t apply at three in the morning?” Swoops says.

Kent pulls Swoops down into another kiss, fingers tangled in his hair. He can make a decision here. He was pretty fucking drunk two hours ago, but now he’s actually on a level where he knows that he could stop being a huge ass if he tried a little harder. So he lets go of Swoops and says, “You said you wanted to stop.”

“Yeah, because I wasn’t in the mood to guess when you’d show up anymore,” Swoops says, but he won’t look at Kent, so it’s probably more than that. “Anyway,” Swoops’ eyes flick back to Kent’s and he nudges Kent’s chin, “all the other times _you_ said you wanted to stop.”

“Because I’m a fucking mess.”

“That you are.”

Kent buries his face in Swoops’ shirt because none of this is fair and he just wants to stand here with Swoops’ arms around him for a really long time and not think about anything, thank you very much. This is still his birthday party and he doesn’t want to have any serious conversations right now.

“I mean,” Swoops says, “I get it. You know, if you don’t want to be…”

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it, man.”

“I’m making you,” Kent says. “It’s my birthday.”

“Not anymore,” Swoops mumbles into his hair. “Whatever. It’s fine if you don’t want to be in a relationship. With me. Or anyone. But–”

“But I was an asshole.”

“I’m not sure if you should be using the past tense there.”

“I don’t know what to…” What to do or what to say or what to think. He desperately wants to be completely sober right now, but his mind is still fuzzy around the edges, so he says, “You’re a great guy, Swoops.”

“I know,” Swoops says and ruffles Kent’s hair. “You have your moments, too.”

“I fucked up.” Kent is practically slumped against Swoops at this point. It’s such a bad idea to have this conversation right now. “I just… keep fucking everything up.”

“Kent,” Swoops says. Something gentle has crept into his voice. “How about you just tell me what you want?”

What does he want? A lot of things he can’t have. A lot of things he doesn’t _deserve_ to have. “I want you to stay,” Kent says, because he’s fucking weak and tired and it’s his birthday party.

“Okay, I can do that.”

“I want you around.”

“Yeah?”

“All the time,” Kent says and maybe that’s the most honest thing he’s ever said in his entire life.

“Fine,” Swoops says.

“Fine?”

“Fine,” Swoops says again. “But maybe you should stop telling me how much you don’t want to do this anymore. Seriously, Parse, for the love of fuck, don’t say that and keep coming back.”

“I suck at relationships,” Kent says. He should have said that a long time ago. He should have warned Swoops right at the beginning.

“Well, that makes two of us.”

“I’m going to fuck it all up.”

“You mean you’re going to fuck it up more than you already have? Because I’m not sure if that’s actually possible.”

“Fuck off,” Kent says.

“Yeah, whatever,” Swoops says and shoves him towards the door. “Let’s go to bed.”

Kent grins. “And then what?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Swoops says, “I don’t actually like you.”

Kent elbows him in the ribs. “You _like_ me?”

“Yep, I’ve definitely changed my mind.”

“Come on,” Kent says and tugs at the hem of Swoops’ shirt.

He can’t stop smiling. He crawls into bed with Swoops and he can’t stop smiling, and he falls asleep with Swoops curled around him and he can’t stop smiling, and he wakes up with Swoops’ face in the crook of his neck and he can’t stop smiling.

Kent can’t stop smiling and maybe it’s about time he got used to the feeling of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Kent Parson is really hard to write and I actually never meant to like him as much as I do now, but here we are. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are super appreciated!!
> 
> I'm @zimmermaenner on tumblr if you wanna say hi :)


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